


Betting Aces

by byrd_the_amazin



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, Modern AU, Race and Spot are both idiots, There's a lot of kissing, and Katherine is an evil mastermind, because come on it's sprace, i guess?, this is for a friend I am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5286956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byrd_the_amazin/pseuds/byrd_the_amazin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That’s right. A bet, Race.”</p><p>She must have known he could have never turned it down. Racetrack Higgins didn’t shy away from a good gamble. Or a bad one, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Betting Aces

**Author's Note:**

> This is for a friend. I am so. So sorry for this.  
> But here have some fake-dating sprace  
> This is not my best quality work?? this was kind of a mind dump and my sweet bbys were the victims  
> But hey you know  
> Here goes nothing  
> -byrd

“A bet?” Race asked skeptically.

Katherine stood over him on Jack’s couch, arms folded and mouth lifted in what might have been a smirk.

“That’s right. A _bet,_ Race.”

She must have known he could have never turned it down. Racetrack Higgins didn’t shy away from a good gamble. Or a bad one, for that matter.

“What… _exactly_ are the terms again?” he asked, trying not to make it seem like he was only mildly curious, when in reality, his heart was going double time.

“Simple,” and _oh,_ that was _definitely_ a smirk. “I bet you and Spot can’t convince everyone you’re a thing. For two months. You win, you get money.”

“How much money?”

“A hundred.”

Race nearly choked. “ _Each?_ You know how many cigarettes I could buy with that?”

“Exactly.” Katherine had the look of someone who knew she was victorious. _Damn her._

“What brought this on? Why do you think I can’t believably fake-date my best friend?”

“Not important.”

“That seems like it would be really important-”

“Do you want the money or not?” she asked, and Race snapped his mouth closed, because he hadn't been exaggerating his shock. A hundred dollars just for acting? He’d be rich.

 “You’re on,” he grumbled, and accepted the perfectly manicured hand offered to him. “Does Spot know?”

“He’s about to,” she said cheerfully, as Spot Conlon himself strolled through the door to Jack’s living room. “Hey, Spot! Guess what?”

~

Spot, to Race’s surprise, agreed.

After making sure of the terms of the bet and ensuring that there was, indeed, one hundred dollars each on the line ( _“Damn,_ Plumber, I forgot how loaded you are”), he turned to Race and said, “So we’re dating now.”

“Guess so,” Race replied. He cocked his head. “Um, what now, Katherine?”

“Don’t look at me, boys. You’re the ones making this thing work. Remember: _believable._ Also remember: _money._ ”

With that, she sashayed ( _yes,_ she freaking _sashayed,_ like the diva she was,) out of Jack’s living room.

Race turned to Spot. “What now?” he asked again.

Upon accepting the terms of the bet, he hadn't actually considered that he might have to, like, _be physical_ with Spot. They were friends.  Nothing more.

This was going to be _great._

“What now?” Spot repeated. He reached for Race’s hand, and Race was shocked at how warm Spot’s hand was in his own.

“This might be a place to start,” he said casually, as though he hadn't just sent Race’s heart into his throat.

Race swallowed hard. “Yeah. Yeah, we should start here. Good.”

It was at that moment that Crutchie wandered in, one hand occupied by his phone and the other latched securely onto his crutch.

“Have you guys seen--” He looked up and noticed how close Spot and Race were, and how their fingers were interlocked. He backed up. “You know, I think Jack needs- something. I’ll go find him. Yeah, I’ll do that.”

He backed out of the room and Spot turned to Race with a small smile.

“We are apparently very convincing,” he said. “One down, Higgins.”

“Lots more to go,” Race agreed, squeezing his hand. “Two months to go.”

~

And so it went.

Spot and Race became as believable a couple as they could, holding hands, cuddling during group hangouts, and generally being _close,_ never more than a room away from each other.

But only in front of their friends. As soon as they were alone, hands were dropped, bodies shuffled away from each other, and they maintained their friendly distance. It was awkward at best, being all alone with the knowledge of _hey, remember last night at Davey’s place when we were cuddled so close I couldn’t tell whose heartbeat I was feeling?_

You couldn’t just bring things like that up in casual conversation.

Well, unless you were Spot Conlon.

Because a few weeks into their little arrangement, Spot pulled Race aside and said, “This isn’t going to cut it, Higgins.”

“Agreed.” Race was glad he wasn’t the only one picking up on the awkwardness. “What do we do?”

“Stop being so casual.”

The fierceness in his tone startled Race, and he nodded slowly. “Which means…”

“Which means we start acting as though we were _actually_ dating,” Spot said. “None of this pansy, cuddling, chaste-glances shit. We do this thing, we do it right.”

“Make out on the couch during movie night, you mean?” Race asked, a sly grin creeping onto his face.

“I like the way you think, Higgins.”

“Glad we had this talk.”

“Back at you,” Spot said. Then, he did something so unexpected, it took Race a few moments to recover. He stepped forward and kissed Race. Just on the cheek, but it was still enough to send Race’s mind into a panic.

“Just like that?” Race managed to stutter, once his brain had returned to normal.

“Sure,” Spot said, and turned to go. In the doorway, though, he paused.

“But _rougher,_ Higgins. Assert _dominance._ ”

Race snorted and turned away, hoping his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

~

They tested their new plan out the next night their whole group got together, which happened to be at Crutchie’s apartment during the next movie night. The selected movie was a Disney flick that Jack denied knowing anything about (and he continued to try to convince them of this until later, when Crutchie caught him mouthing the lyrics to one of the songs, word for word).

Race was sprawled over Spot’s lap, but when Davey cut out the lights and the movie’s opening credits began, he swung a leg over Spot so that he was straddling him. Suddenly, he was very, _very_ aware of how close their faces were, how much they were pressed together, and he vaguely wondered how far they were taking this.

“Hey, Spot,” he whispered.

“Hey, Higgins,” Spot murmured back, and Race could feel Spot’s breath ghosting across his cheek. “Comfortable?”

“You bet your sweet ass I am.”

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Race admitted, the tiniest hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. If Spot noticed, he didn’t let on.

The next few seconds were spent looking at each other, hazel eyes meeting brown, and all Race could wonder was, _Are we really going to do this?_ before leaning forward and closing the distance between them.

Spot met him in the middle, pressing their lips together and making Race gasp, a sound that seemed to encourage Spot. His arms slid up to wrap around Race as they kissed and _damn,_ Spot was a good kisser. His lips were slightly chapped, but warm, and they felt _so good_ moving against Race’s.

Race never wanted this to end, this crazy bet that was going to be the cause of so much sexual frustration and confusion. He wanted this glorious, amazing feeling to last forever, and suddenly he understood the appeal behind couples being attached at the mouth.

But they weren’t a couple, Race reminded himself as he drew backwards for air. They were just doing this for Katherine’s bet. Money. _The hundred dollars._

He must have had some expression on his face, because Spot cocked his head. “Damn, Higgins,” he murmured, licking his lips (his _red, thoroughly kissed lips,_ Race’s inner self pointed out unhelpfully). “Am I really that bad of a kisser?”

“No,” whispered Race, and cleared his throat. Suddenly, speaking normally was as great a feat as flying. “No, that was amazing.”

Spot gave a half-grin, and some of his self-confidence seemed to return to him. “Course it was. It was me, wasn’t it?”

“Sure, Spot,” Race snorted, and leaned in again.

This time, it lasted longer. They both became more bold, kissing with purpose, several times clashing teeth and tongues and having to pull apart to gasp for air. Race loved every second of it, and they only stopped for real when a pillow hit Race in the back.

“Hey!” he cried indignantly, turning to face Mush, who was glaring at him.

“Stop _making out,_ ” he complained. “You’re being loud, and I’m trying to watch the movie.”

“You’re one to talk,” Spot retorted from under Race. Mush was draped over Blink, and they were occasionally exchanging small kisses.

“No, we’re being _cute and domestic_ ,” Blink pointed out. “You’re being _loud and annoying._ ”

“Screw you,” Spot and Race responded as one, and then turned to beam at each other.

“Ew, _ew,_ ” Crutchie groaned from his place on the armchair. “Mush and Blink, I can deal with. But _you two…_ ”

“No making out on the couch,” Jack volunteered helpfully from beside Crutchie. “House rules.”

“Jack, this isn’t your house,” Finch said.

“Might as well be,” Romeo snickered. “He as good as lives here.”

“What?” Jack demanded.

“Nothing at all I did not say a thing, Specs, did you say something?” Romeo asked, his face the picture of innocence.

Specs snorted loudly and tried to turn it into a cough.

“Movie!” Finch prompted, and they quieted down. Crutchie shot Spot and Race one more Look before returning his attention to the TV.

Race dipped his head for another kiss, but Spot pulled away.

“Crutchie said no,” he whispered, so that the others wouldn’t overhear.

Race scoffed. “And you’r _e listening to him?_ ”

“It is his apartment,” Spot said, but he sounded doubtful now.

“And since when does the Terror of the East Coast listen to _anyone_ when they tell him to stop making out with his-” and here, Race trailed a finger along Spot’s jaw, causing a shudder to come from his best friend that seemed almost involuntary, “- _boyfriend?_ ”

“Holy _shit,_ ” Spot murmured, and lunged upwards to recapture Race’s lips in a fierce kiss.

Needless to say, Race didn’t actually get to _watch_ much of the movie.

Not that he was complaining.

~

And so, their relationship progressed. If you can call it a _relationship_ when both halves of the couple are doing it for a hundred dollars that their doubtful friend bet against them.

They started making out more often, each time becoming more and more intimate, more passionate, more heated, until the only thing keeping it PG-13 was the fact that both of them were fully clothed.

They became the PDA couple, worse than Mush and Blink, Specs and Romeo, and Jack and Crutchie combined, and everyone soon figured out that they were  together, assuming they hadn't already gathered that from their makeout session at Crutchie’s.

And Race thought they were pretty damn convincing, too. Good enough to earn the, both the money, for sure. And there were only a few weeks to go.

But something was wrong. He got used to having Spot attached to his side (or, more likely, his lips,) at all times. He became accustomed to his friend’s little habits and quirks, like the way his whole face relaxed into a satisfied sneer when he realized he was about to win an argument, or how the only way to tell for sure that he was nervous was if he had to find something to do with his hands, which, depending on the circumstance, could be picking at his fingernails or running light fingers along Race’s arms or neck. When Spot was happy, it didn’t show in his face, just his eyes. He hated olives but would kill a man for pasta. His favorite thing to read were comics, and he was a sucker for romantic comedies (although he threatened Race with everything he had at his disposal if he told anyone).

And suddenly Race was experiencing something else, too- loss. When their friends left the picture and Spot moved over, leaving a warm indentation on the couch beside Race and an empty feeling somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach.

It was probably brain damage, from all the making out they had done over the past few weeks. Nothing more. He and Spot were _friends._

 _The hundred dollars,_ he reminded himself, whenever that feeling of loss sprang up again. _That’s all this is. Don’t forget it, either._

Still, he couldn’t help the tiny part of him wondering _what happens after this?_ They only had a few more weeks of fake-dating, and then what? They went back to normal?

Or, as normal as you could get when you had had your best friend’s tongue down your throat.

So now, as the days ticked by, Race tried to enjoy dating Spot. He tried to convince himself not to be too disappointed when this eventually would end, and he tried not to feel like he was throwing away the best (fake) boyfriend he would ever have.

~

There were three weeks left of their bet with Katherine when Race realized just how screwed he really was.

This week, their group had decided to do game night at Race’s apartment, and Spot, as usual, had taken up residence in Race’s lap. When a (supposedly) friendly game of Monopoly ended with Davey and Katherine taking the lead and bankrupting them all into oblivion, Spot suggested poker, and the others only agreed to play if Spot and Race weren’t working together. As Spot reluctantly got off of Race, whining loudly, Race pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Don’t worry, babe,” he called, as Spot plopped down between Romeo and Finch on the other side of the table. “I’ll beat your ass.”

“You wish, Higgins,” Spot snapped.

Race stuck his tongue out at him.

“Boys,” Davey chided, passing half the cards to Jack for him to shuffle and mixing up the rest himself. “No flirting at the table.”

“Yes, _Mum,_ ” Race and Spot said unison, then grinned at each other across the table.

“ _Stop,_ for all our sakes,” Crutchie sighed, hitting his head on Jack’s shoulder. “Even _we_ aren’t this gross.”

“Would you _like_ to be?” Jack asked him.

“ _No,_ that’s the _point_ ,” Crutchie groaned, accepting the cards he was dealt.

“What should we bet with? Money?” Henry asked.

“We are _broke_ children,” Romeo whined.

“Toothpicks,” Davey decided, and turned to Race. “Where are your toothpicks?”

Race pointed to the kitchen. “Second drawer from the stove? Maybe?”

When Davey returned, all the cards had been dealt.

Race picked up his cards and grinned at them.

“Race, your poker face _sucks,_ ” Jack commented as he readjusted his cards.

“Maybe I wasn’t going for a poker face, _Cowboy,”_ Race snapped.

“Want me to beat his ass, babe?” Spot asked casually as he examined his own hand of cards.

“Oh my God, _stop,_ ” Specs grumbled. “Davey, make them stop.”

“Katherine, make them stop,” Davey said automatically.

“I can do no such thing,” she said, and Race caught her smile behind her cards.

Race blew a kiss to Spot.

Once the game was over (after a tense last few minutes with Race and Spot betting all they had, with Race eventually pulling through as victor), the group gathered in the living room. Everyone with obligations the next day gathered their things and left, and soon the only ones in the room were Race, Spot, Katherine, Crutchie, Jack, Davey, and Finch.

Spot’s feet were in Race’s lap, so they weren’t as close as usual, but Race found the familiar weight in his lap comforting as everyone talked mindlessly- about work, about family, about life in general. Someone had brought out Race’s stash of beer, but none of them were drinking much.

Katherine left after a while to go home, and Finch and Davey followed. Jack whispered something in Crutchie’s ear that made him turn pink in the face, and they stumbled out of Race’s apartment together.

Soon it was just Spot and Race, and when Spot swung his legs over so that they were no longer in Race’s lap, Race tried to hide his disappointment.

“Spo- _ot,”_ he whined. “Now my lap’s cold.”

“No one’s here, Higgins. Drop it,” Spot muttered, pulling out his phone.

“Asshole. My lap is cold.”

“I heard.” Spot’s attention was still solely on his phone screen.

Race sighed. “Just two more weeks, Conlon. Then we’re done.”

“Hallelujah,” Spot said dryly. He stood and stretched. “I’ve got to go, Race. See you tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Race didn’t meet his eye, didn’t watch as he left the apartment, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Then he realized- that was the first time in forever that he’d heard Spot use his first name. And _oh_ it sounded so nice coming from Spot’s lips and that’s when Race knew he was screwed. So completely screwed.

“Shit,” Race said. “Shit shit _goddammit all._ ”

Then he called Katherine, as he was wont to do in such crises.

“What?” she asked, upon picking up the phone.

“Katherine, you’ve got to help me.”

“You need bail money again?” She sounded bored.

“Plumber, I swear, that was just _once,_ and no, I’m still at my place.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I think I’m in love with my best friend.”

Dead silence on the other end of the line. Race was beginning to think she’d hung up until—

“I’ll be right over. You want peanut butter cookies?”

“Kath, _is that even a question_ yes I want peanut butter cookies.”

“Be there soon.”

“You’re an angel, Plumber. A gift from the heavens above, sent to save us mere mortals-”

“Save it, Higgins.”

Race shut his mouth and couldn’t help thinking that it was _so_ much more attractive when Spot called him that.

The next twenty minutes were spent alternately pacing the living room and lying on the couch, upside down, glaring at the wall.

When Katherine knocked on the door and then let herself in, he was doing the latter, and she took a step back. “You alright?”

“No, I am not freaking alright. I think I’m in love with the person I’m supposed to be fake-dating and my entire life is meaningless _do you think I am freaking alright?”_

“First of all, _chill.”_ Katherine said, moving around the couch and sitting on the coffee table. She set her plate of cookies beside her and smoothed down her skirt. “Tell me everything.”

“Your goddamn _bet_ , Plumber. The one where Spot and I are meant to be dating. I think I’m falling for him and I don’t know what to do because he o _bviously_ doesn’t return my feelings because he’s been acting so _distant_ lately whenever we’re alone, and I don’t know what to do except suffer in silence.” Race said this all in one breath, and when he finished, Katherine looked thoughtful.

“Why don’t you tell him this? Maybe you’re wrong and he _does_ like you back,” Katherine mused.

“No. No _no_ no no,” Race whined. “I don’t think he does, and I don’t want to screw this up because there’s a hundred dollars on the line but I don’t even freaking _care_ about the money because I love this so much but it’s fake and… and I don’t know about anything anymore.”

Katherine closed her eyes and whispered something to herself, then opened them again and plastered a very-fake-looking smile onto her face that Race didn’t buy for an instant.

“You know, if you idiots would just _talk_ about these things, then we wouldn’t have these problems, now would we, Race?”

“Shut it, Plumber. I can’t talk to him because he doesn’t feel the same way, I _know_ he doesn’t, and I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Racetrack, I swear to you, you’ve got nothing to lose. If he doesn’t return your feelings, then it’s awkward. So what? You still get money. And you can go back to being friends. Nothing will change. But if he _does_ like you back, you’ve got yourself a _real_ boyfriend.”

Race couldn’t find anything wrong with this logic, and that made him angry, because it was so _simple._

“What even brought on this stupid bet, anyways?” he grumbled.

Katherine started to say something, but apparently thought better of it. “Curiosity,” she finally said.

Race groaned. He shifted and swung his legs around so that he was on the couch the right way, and reached for a cookie. Katherine smacked his hand away.

“First promise you’ll get your shit with Spot together,” she said.

“ _Depriving_ me of your world-famous peanut butter cookies?” he cried. “I am _wounded_ , Plumber.”

“Shut up and agree to my terms,” Katherine snapped, hand still protectively hovering over the plate of cookies.

“I dunno,” Race said. “Last time I agreed to your _terms,_ it got me into this mess.”

“And are you complaining, or do you _really_ like Spot?”

“I’m not answering that.” Race reached for a cookie, but Katherine batted his hand away again.

“Agree to the terms.”

“Fine, _fine._  I promise to talk to him. Can I have a cookie now?”

Katherine did better than that. She passed him the entire plate, which he eagerly dove into.

“I expect a full report in one hour,” Katherine said, standing and pulling out her phone.

“An hour? Kath, he’s already gone home. We aren’t pretending to be boyfriends again until tomorrow, in front of everyone else.”

“No, no. This needs to be a private conversation, and it needs to happen tonight, before you drop dead of anxiety.” She tapped something on her phone and put it up to her ear.

“Wait, who are you calling?” Race demanded.

“Your _boy-friend,”_ she sang, and then, “Hey, Spot, your bae wants a pizza.”

Even from the couch, Race heard the, “ _That sucks, doesn’t it?”_ from Spot’s end.

“Let me rephrase that,” Katherine said, and suddenly there was malice behind her words. “You will go get a pizza and bring it to Race’s place for you and him to consume together or the amount of money offered in this bet will be reduced.”

“Wait, I don’t need a pizza-”

“Shut it, Race. Cheese, Spot. You two have some things to discuss, and I think it crucial that it happens tonight. _Yes,_ tonight. Love you!” Katherine said loudly, obviously overpowering any protesting from Spot. “See you soon! Bye!”

She hung up. “He’ll be here soon. You might want to work out what you’re going to say.”

“Plumber, I swear to God-”

She considered that. “Don’t think the good Lord wants to hear it, but you can try.”

“I’ve got to call him and tell him not to come-” Race scrambled for his phone on the coffee table, but in two long strides, Katherine beat him to it and snatched it up, holding it out of reach.

“No. He’s already on his way and you two need to work this out,” she said.

“Screw you, Plumber.”

“Love you too. You’ll thank me later, I promise.” She tossed his phone on the armchair and walked towards the door.

“Whoa, whoa, where are you going?”

“Um, home,” she said, as though it were obvious. “I’ve got work tomorrow and I need to-”

“Oh, no. you can’t leave me alone with him!”

“Good bye, Race. Spot’ll be here soon. See you tomorrow.”

“No, wait-” but she was gone, the door swinging shut behind her.

“Dammit,” Race muttered. “ _Damn it._ ”

Because he was not ready for this conversation. He would almost rather live alone forever, wondering if his feelings were requited, than have this conversation, because he _knew_ Spot was going to reject him. Maybe even politely, because they _were_ friends, but reject him nonetheless. And Race didn’t want to have to deal with the pain and humiliation that would inevitably follow.

When Spot knocked on the door fifteen minutes later, Race _almost_ didn’t let him in.

But he did have pizza.

Race opened the door to find Spot, clutching a pizza box and looking very confused.

“You wanted to talk?” he asked, and did Spot Conlon look _uncertain?_

“No,” Race lied, deciding that it was easiest. “I wanted pizza.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Spot’s. “Thanks.”

Spot didn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary, and so Race figured he must not have noticed. He had become so accustomed to Race lately that he probably _hadn't_ noticed.

So Race didn’t say anything, just let his friend into the living room and settled down on the couch. Spot placed the pizza on the coffee table and flopped down beside Race, not too close, but enough so that Race could just barely feel the warmth that he missed so much.

_It’s been like an hour since you saw him last. Get a freaking grip._

But Spot looked so gorgeous, lounging on Race’s old blue couch like he owned the thing, eating a slice of pizza and managing not to get any on himself, which Race envied greatly.

“So… you just wanted pizza? So you had Kath call me?” Spot asked.

Race shrugged, not wanting to outright lie, but figuring the truth was too complicated for right now.

“Want to watch something?”

“Depends.” Spot finished his first piece of pizza and reached for a second. “What’s on?”

Race grabbed the remote and turned on the crappy old TV, switching channels a few times before settling on a show that looked like it had been filmed in the seventies, by small children with no sense of the finer points of cinematography.

“Crappy comedy,” Spot said, shrugging. “Why not?”

They watched for a few minutes until they realized it wasn’t in English, at which point Spot turned to Race, a look of bewilderment on his face.

“You kissed me,” he said.

“I’ve kissed you a lot, Spot,” Race said, deliberately avoiding Spot’s real meaning.

“No, just now. I thought maybe there was someone else here, but it’s just you. Why did you kiss me?”

“I was just… used to it. Sorry,” Race mumbled. He didn’t look at Spot, but he knew Spot was watching him closely.

“It’s just pretend, Race,” and _oh,_ Spot had used his real name again, Race loved it when he did that, “I mean, you don’t need to apologize.”

“Maybe I don’t want it… to be pretend.” Race whispered.

Spot had the TV muted before Race registered what was happening. He turned towards Race with an expression of absolute shock. “ _What did you say?_ ”

“I said maybe I don’t _want_ it to be pretend,” Race said, a bit louder this time. “Maybe I like you a lot and this bet just confirmed that and…” He was gaining confidence now, “I don’t want this to be over when the bet ends and-”

He never got to finish, because Spot’s lips were on his and _oh God._ Spot’s mouth was warm and his lips were chapped and when his hands trailed up Race’s sides, Race made a noise that he would definitely deny later and _kissed back_. One of his hands found Spot’s hair and wound his fingers through it, making Spot shudder and sigh against Race’s mouth and _yes,_ Race could definitely die happy now. Spot moved forward, pushing Race so that he was lying down and Spot was on top of him and they _kissed_ and _kissed_ and _kissed_. The only noises in the room were the slight static coming from the television and both of their small sighs and moans.

Race eventually pulled away for air, relishing in the needy sound that Spot made when they broke apart.

“So what is this?” Race asked breathlessly. “What are we?”

“Whatever you want to be,” Spot said seriously, resting his forearms on Race’s chest and settling his head on his forearms so he could look him in the eyes.

“You. _God,_ I want _you_ , Spot,” Race whispered. “And not because of a bet, or money, or anything _shit_ I want this so badly.”

“Good,” said Spot, and trailed a feather-light finger over Race’s collarbone, sending jolts up Race’s spine.

Spot leaned down to kiss him again, and Race, now more confident, nipped lightly at Spot’s bottom lip, causing Spot to sigh happily against Race’s mouth. Race smiled, and Spot lunged forward to claim Race’s mouth with his own and they _kissed,_ long and lazy.

“This bet was a freaking _amazing_ idea,” Spot murmured in between kisses, then moved to Race’s neck, sucking and nipping bruises into Race’s skin and making Race sigh, eyes closed in ecstasy

“Mm, yes,” Race mumbled happily. “Katherine is a – _shit, Spot—_ genius.”

“We should-” Spot nipped at Race’s neck, then smoothed the area over with his tongue ( _“Christ, Spot,”_ ) “-thank her tomorrow.”

Race nodded and hissed obscenities because he was _going to die,_ he was already _dead,_ and it was all this stupid, beautiful boy’s fault.

“We should-” Spot murmured, sucking a deep purple mark into Race’s skin, “-move to your room.”

“Getting a bit feisty, aren’t we?” Race asked.

“Oh, _come on,_ Race, everyone already thinks we’re screwing. Might as well confirm it, right?” Spot asked, and he looked so hopeful, with his gorgeous eyes and his kiss-flushed lips, that Race leaned upward to kiss him one more time.

“We could just go to the bedroom,” he suggested, “and see what happens?”

“Sounds good to me,” Spot said, and pushed up off of Race and the couch and helped Race up, too. Race linked their fingers together and pulled Spot after him to his bedroom.

~

Katherine looked up as the door to the coffee shop opened, hitting the bell and emitting a dinging. Race and Spot came in, holding hands as usual, but Katherine sensed something different in their body language. Race didn’t have any more doubt in his expression as he and Spot swung their joined hands back and forth. Spot looked more at ease with Race and being so close to him.

 _Looks like they got it figured out,_ Katherine thought, as she waved to them. Crutchie, who was cleaning the counter, whistled.

“Nice _hickeys,_ man,” he told Race.

Race yelped and smacked Spot’s arm. “I thought you said they weren’t visible!”

“I lied,” Spot said, with an easy grin. He kissed Race gently and shooed him away so that he could order their drinks, and Race joined Katherine and Jack at their table.

“Sup, Cowboy?” he asked. Jack merely grunted.

“He’s just being a pissy baby because Crutchie’s got to work today,” Katherine informed him, patting Jack’s head lightly. “Have fun last night?”

“So much,” Race said with a smile, looking to back to where his boyfriend (boyfriend? They were definitely dating _now,_ right?) was ordering.

“Save the adoring looks for later,” Jack grumbled. “When the rest of us can join in when _certain people_ are _off work_.”

“Do you need another coffee?” Katherine asked him. When he sighed dramatically, she seemed to take this as a yes and waved over one of the passing employees.

Spot came over with their coffees, and Race took one, kissing Spot’s cheek as a thank you. Jack groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“Crutchie wants to talk to you,” Spot said around the straw in his mouth.

Jack perked up instantly. “Scuse me, gents,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat and all but bolting to the counter.

“Does he really?” Katherine asked.

“No,” Spot admitted. “But Crutchie was not-so-subtly pining and I decided I would step in.”

“Oh! Speaking of unsubtle pining, I have something for you,” Katherine said, reaching into her purse and pulling out two hundred dollar bills.

“Mother of _Christ,_ Plumber,” Spot breathed in awe, hesitantly reaching for the money. “Is this thing _real_?”

“As real as it gets,” Katherine said, zipping her purse as Race took his own money. “For a bet well-won.”

Race looked up, puzzled. “The bet isn’t over for another two weeks.”

“What can I say? You’ve convinced me,” she said, standing and slinging her bag over one shoulder. “If Jack comes over, tell him I’m taking his coffee.” With that, she left.

“No need,” Spot said, looking over at the front counter, and Race followed his gaze just in time to see Jack pull Crutchie over the counter for a very long and probably not publicly decent kiss.

“I think he’s plenty distracted from his funk,” Race agreed, and as the kiss got more and more heated, he slid closer to Spot. “If anyone asks, I officially don’t know them.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. They may have the right idea,” Spot mused, then turned back to his boyfriend.

“What, public indecency?” Race scoffed.

“Exactly, Higgins. If you aren’t making everyone around you uncomfortable, you aren’t doing it right.”

“That your life motto or something?”

“Or something,” Spot said, and leaned in.

Race smiled against Spot’s lips and felt it mirrored back on his own and he thought, _yes, I could be happy with this for eternity._

Then he pulled back abruptly. “Wait a second.”

Spot cocked his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Katherine freaking _Plumber_ is what’s wrong,” Race hissed. “She knew all along we would get together! Did you _see_ the satisfaction on her face? She knew _exactly_ what she was doing, setting us up like this.”

“Damn _,_ you’re right,” Spot muttered, running a hand through his hair. “That sneaky little _thing_ -”

“…Got us together, so are you _really_ complaining?” Race asked, running a finger along Spot’s arm.

“Mmm, not really,” Spot admitted, looking down at Race through heavily lidded eyes. “Kiss me again?”

“We can get back at her later,” Race decided, and pressed his mouth to Spot’s.

“Later,” Spot mumbled against Race’s lips. “I can live with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...oops?  
>  blame officialjackcrutchie for her awesome headcanons that inspired this crap  
> come yell at me/say hi to me on tumblr: @to-the-giant-furniture-wall  
> -byrd


End file.
